A Traveller Lost His Way
“To him that is afflicted, pity should be shewed from his friend.” I say.
Doctor Two-Dollars says: “You accuse others, and especially the religious – resistless pillars of fire that they are – but the objects of your desire define who you are, you know.”
I don’t really believe it – but there is a giant sackcloth that hateth me and set me up for its mark. I do have some thoughts of my own but the thing is, it also feels good to endure. So here we go again. Here come the angels who are set over the repentance-in-advance of the weights of the Next Sections. At least they have stopped talking to me for now: they growl and snap at the little toddlers.
“Robbed of will was I while I lived!”
But don't take my word for it. Beware! And caveat pre-emptyorisness. Merchants have had you and painfully betrayed me also.
“Okay then Doctor Two-Dollars, horrible pirate. You shall have pleasure from the mark but when your oversized tub comes ashore I will have formulated a number of suits: The Seed of Mens versus Thieving Pirates.”
I am from the South and believe in sufficiency, which is exactly the opposite of Northern Science. Thank God for the ‘iffus’ (read blackwords) in ‘sufficient’.
And Doctor Two-Dollars saith, “Jehovah, God, according to the structures, concepts, political imaginations of all of us, surely continued sexuality was placed upon earth that the triumphing of these wicked would be short.”
And what can I say? Sure enough, emanations are become harlots upon the earth. I am so distracted at their deeds – intercourse with invisible spirits assuming forms which... one got us into positions on the bed because I blotted out and eventually she collapsed on top of us. We both felt down. (We have similar builds: for example, her lips don’t be beautiful and I am such a liar, my mouth is such a dump.) My mouth covered partly as she slowly enjoyed her hot bed.
I listen to Bill (I have Bills to play) – he says it is because we elected Molech, and when Molech was the crag of the rock we elected Parchad to dispense something called “The Transcendental Suspension” (guarded by the Church) – and I am hooked.
“Holy shirt!” says Adam, “Now we're getting somewhere – threaten to get rid of the little intruders; scare the wits out of them before they make trouble… We cleaned our own house yesterday. Making perfect replicas from now on, going well so far…”
Sorry boys, don’t you know? – a manufactured gene is even worse than a natural one. I am the Seed of Mens. From the South. Which is exactly the opposite. Read backwards dear.
Then Parchad with words and weeds filled the world of our waking lives with objects that the Lord of Spirits hath prepared for those who worship Time, the old adage, the old sore – Pensions for the Ethical. It’s like ‘live out their full term of office’ or something. And why? Some think Pachad was terrified (probably had weak hands).
As for me, I renounce Time and all his works. He will unripen the grape right there on the vine – and would not spare her paine neither. But he hath buggered up my spine, being incensed: so he prevails, finger up. Bad back. Back to the doctor then? No. I have appointments with witches. All turn native medicine into flowing spiritual waters.
Hush! Here she comes: get a better view of her.
She was just a short walk, long skirts, and inside I could not guess how she looked near her legs. Well, her bottom was on her whole body! The sun was bright. (Could be Judge Schreiber's illness?)
I looked into her eyes: books; must water my plant; grind coffee beans; swat a fly. I laughed. It was a nervous attractions-like laugh. She too began to enjoy my face – I had an unbelievable head – her long blonde attempting to start some conversation.
Put my spare hand on her thigh (swatted a fly). “We’ll see where the problem on your legs is at…” and my eyes were amazed making the desire to taste and to kiss in my own belly: she might have brought a surprise taste for me. I was not satisfied just feeling and loving her thigh, could see her pink lips starting to show through the years – but we will all clam up right there.
“Nice thighs!” I tried to get more information with gentle prodding.
She saw the look on my face and said “Don’t take me the wrong way.”
I put my lips around desire to be a woman.
– that Judge Schreiber's illness? “You, you, you, can also are a woman! The sun shines out.”
“So, what the hell are we supposed to do? My back could give out any time.” My words came in pants. Fear took hold of me and loins gave way. Hysteria visibly soaked the front of my trousers.
“It’s too much for you?”
“Well, I was never entire.”
“You were never entirely well.”
Thought I’d check out what each delicate fold: “Let’s take a look at this Transbiological Sustenance of the Unethical, take a brief moment from the bustle and rush, inside and out.”
Rowena tried in vain to explain it in a roundabout way – with the exception of a seventh part of it and a seventh part of her light, and three days in darkness (no concept of infinity possible for three days): “Dig it, or size it up.”
Then the Seed of Mens (fails to notice the omissions) digs in the valley looking for a well, spiritual waters overflowing. But he is brought into a net by his own feet because he walketh upon snares; mistaken identities, missionary positions, divorces.
My pants discarded on the floor, long since soaked.
“You actually went to see a witch?”
“Well, I was never in Tyre.”
“So, what’s her about, anyway?”
“Miracles, food, sex. Always excitement went on the floor. I was not pretty sure about her complexion in the dark, but I was hatching out.”
–––––––
Doctor Two-Dollars says: “Ever since he has been able to express and write down his thoughts, he has felt himself close to a mystery, which is – to be perfectly Frankenstein – spectres! I might even say ‘The Conception of God’. Because popular beliefs in the Creator, from whatever religion they descend to us, are certainly the most mediocre.”
He must be right about that: I mean, see if you can find fifty righteous in their midst, writhing in pain. It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of breasts with light pink nipples, or dark skin and dark eyes and lashes, or in things before they come to pass; and thou seest these things: Beauty! Afflictions of Love! The Family Divine! (it hovers around).
And that’s all very well – but I have a reputation to maintain. Difference between a good subject and a bad subject: the good subject has been conditioned, writhing in pain, because the snake was the original firm idea of what to live for: absent body of the mother. But it’s no use asking him: “Hello Snake. Have you delivered us a new psychology for motherless males? Begotten but not maids, one in being with the father?” Some, insensible, kiss that snake tenderly, rock him to and fro – and he is barking!
No answer yet.
“I didn't think so. Monstrous Birth! Lizard! Frightful abortion!”
“On the contrariness!” saith the reptile. “My mother is a life and, well, she delights in nothing so much as orbiting me in moonstrual cycles. From the East she riseth at night, shineth the whole night through – literally overnight! And who can think his thoughts?”
Rowena tried to explain in a roundabout way – “It’s Master Barking, the Implaccable Contraption, never-alive, terrible repetitions.” – but all the time she kept stealing. We floated around. I began to submit to the thefts. Her excitement was very large and thick. I have never seen such a large elementary stage – I think it is perfect. As she sensed my head exploring she withdrew it almost immediately. My hardened cavities was deserts. Her body was inside my skirt – and I generally wear nothing under my skirt!
My legs twist and wriggle a bit. Her excitement starts to move. She told me the most frightful cheek and I went weak as it hit, coming around later to sort it out on the keyboard.
What about God? The witch was initiated through the powerful medium of the internet, wrote a midrash on gentile nations for their salvation also. But her mind rambled: the sun was so bright.
So we used to have endless talks about hypnotism:
“This hat has a microphone and you wear earphones.”
Clamped them tightly around Rowena’s head.
“I know what to do,” says Rowena. “My father had one like this for a while. Forty years, hydraulic joints and all the trimmings.”
She is not very thick.
“Induction, deepening, creation, redemption.”
“And no judgment?” I think. Well, people seemed different then. Even the climate was different – it kissed softly, gently kneaded my smooth flesh, intercourse with invisible spirits – we got into the spirits – fast track to the unconscious.
“What can you hear under water? What use am the controls? Not too much!”
Sometimes loud and clear, sometimes barely audible ‘like music down a windy street’. Nausea at that faint simile there, I go weak as it hits. Simile makes me sick. I rush to the bathroom.
I think long ago I accepted (we enjoyed and I let go) and this woman raised a revolt in Heaven (you know, was living in Inanna’s Hallupu tree until Gilgamesh threw her out). So The Seed of Mens digs in the valley and finds there a well unto the spiritual waters.... it felt exactly like a real excitement.
Rowena felt herself opening up in ways she’d cringe from now. After that she showed me the angels of punishment for daring to tempt the Queene Architect: “How are your teeths? Lets put the ‘dental’ into transcendental.”
We had almost nothing else in common both with long hair. I had an unbelievable head and in it, a half baked idea I cannot describe: The Impenetrable Conception. Then, one day, natural blond hair: the hair came by itself. “Goodbye brown hair, you’ve retired.”
She had soft blue eyes. I had blue, almond-shaped – kept rolling but I can honestly say they can’t in the sun.
She had described herself all over the phone, politics and city life, a nearby bank, flex time, new markets. After all, basically a typist, though terrifying with her whitish senior year in blonde hair. She been working off that boost ever since.
We both was following events. We both dressed for city life. I wasn’t too crazy. “You’ve lived here long without experimenting.”
“Long ago, when the Devil raised a revolt in Heaven, he and all who fought for him were driven into outer darkness.”
“But it’s just weird you know,” I add. “Voltaire says: ‘If God made man in His own image, man has put us on an unexpected track, and in the last two or three years especially’”.
Nausea, I went weak, rushed to the bathroom. “That's visitation,” said I: “A third toothbrush.” All I was, her best friend (we have always been with each other). Was over shortly. Goodbye. It was inevitable. Neither of us shed a tear, illness blocking our eyes.
I have to try to explain it another way.
He was a traveler who lost his way and has gaped in desolate cities – and tried to send you a letter, certainly. Time to go someplace, kind of involuntarily, by means of the ensemble of beings that exist in innocence: they commanded and they brought the Seed of Mens.
At last he came to a farm, not recognize at all. Not even any sign.
“Now? What farmhouse?”
There he knocked, and a mature woman… her stomach muscles trembled: she stroked her hair: she was hungry, which he accepted, and dry as a wooden god. I will have to digress again: it was a deal with the devil and she bet the water. Because normally the spirit of the rain goes forth from its chamber, the angels come, there is earth and sand. But now, oh my! So The Seed of Mens digs in the valley – years ago, all over the world – and finds there a well-built body and breasts and lights. It feel exactly like real excitement. Tried quietly to turn fire into either water or skin. A bull comes forth from the earth, and it runneth upon the sand like a giant, and it evolved: the no-good Workman flipped and made it think ‘I have wasted all these years!’ and did not spare it any paine neither.
A comfortable silence fell upon them. All stared into darkness. We have arrived.
I have mixed things up a bit. So… at the cabin was a traveler lost his way: that is a bald fact and anyway he did not have long wavy most of the day.
He was nothing so he was welcomed courteously – asks her the reason for this: she says he is trivial. (I was single and harmless.)
“Come brown hair, you’re retired.” She stroked her hair. As for myself, I had an unbelievable head.
She says “I have dark, almond-shaped two eyes – and peas too, you pod!”
We talked for about half an hour. “If God made man, then man certainly has a powerful orgasm.” Seeing her goodly vessel ride about time and tide I told His-Own-Image that it looked delicious.
“Ever since mens have been able to express himself, assuredly there was something down in the lake.”
The spirits assumed forms which were commonplace there – but they could be terrifying – and the man wanted to turn, not wanting the bath in the spirit. “Oversized tub,” he calls it, “Nothing in it. Anyway I am a spirit”.
He says: “I look up to heaven itself…”
“Maybe so, but do you have reservations anywhere?”
“But ever since man has thought, been able to express and write down his thoughts, to form a bridge, to express, to create legends up in the stars, since he has had the girls thrashed, been past half-strength, turned to the proof-texts of the fathers, parallels with the Old Testament, Josephus, there are many ancient texts written…”
“Yes, but long ago, when the Devil raised a revolt in Heaven, he and all who fought for me, making love, were driven to the outer circumferences and watched videos, gloomy with dark. Darkness was on televisions and computers beneath the heavens and their light was not light but darkness, their fire was not skin, neither was it water.”
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